"…So, Boggarts aren't actually as mysterious as you might think."
For most people, mental magic remained one of the most difficult branches of magic. As a result, even though the first fourth-year lesson only covered the most basic fundamentals, Lupin still had to spend nearly a class and a half to get everyone more or less on the same page. By the time he was wrapping things up, the topic had circled back to Boggarts once again…
"The Legilimency they use is extremely shallow, and it can only read a single, surface-level fear. So even after this lesson—after you understand what Boggarts really are—you don't need to constantly worry that some Boggart hiding in a corner is peering straight into your thoughts…"
Leaning against the wall beside a blackboard filled to the brim with writing, Lupin waited until he was sure everyone had finished copying their notes and shifted their attention back from the board to him. Only then did he begin to close out the lesson in a relaxed tone, earning a ripple of relieved, quiet laughter from the class.
"To give the simplest example," he continued, "everyone here must have something they're afraid of, right? Spiders, venomous snakes, a certain person, or something else—usually something with a concrete form."
"But imagine this: if those things were about to destroy what you cherish most, or harm your family and friends… wouldn't you draw your wand and step forward? I imagine most of you would say 'yes,' wouldn't you?"
"And that means your fear of losing family, friends, or important things far outweighs your fear of spiders or snakes. That's precisely where a Boggart falls short. It can only identify things that startle you, things that trigger fear on the surface—it can't peer into what you truly fear deep down…"
"Professor," someone raised a hand, "what if a person's fear is something abstract? Like being afraid of death itself?"
"That actually makes things easier," Lupin said with a smile. "There have been experiments on this. In the end, researchers found that Boggarts will only transform into concrete things. They won't create an entire scene to present your deepest fear."
"For example, if someone's greatest fear is their own death, then when facing that person, a Boggart would only turn into their corpse. It wouldn't turn into a Dark wizard grinning as he casts the Killing Curse at them. But since that person knows they aren't actually dead, they can immediately realize that the corpse is probably just a Boggart—making the scare effectively harmless."
"So, as a Dark creature that was studied fairly early on, Boggarts offer us very limited insight into mental magic. Their true value lies more in Transfiguration. For instance, last century, someone replicated the structural properties of a Boggart's body and synthesized a high-quality Transfiguration material known as 'Boggart Paste,' which is still widely used in Transfiguration and alchemy to this day…"
"Don't ask me about the principles behind it—I don't know that much myself. If you're curious, you can go ask Professor McGonagall. After all, she taught me too."
Seeing several students with hands raised and faces full of curiosity, Lupin gave a wry smile and waved them down, gently suppressing their questions.
"All right, we're just about out of time. It's unfortunate that the very first lesson of the term had to be such a dry theory class—but next time, I promise I'll catch a few more Dark creatures…"
As the bell rang, Lupin was the first to pack up his materials and leave the classroom. The students stood up in small groups, chatting noisily as they filed out, their discussion centered almost entirely on the new professor.
"At last, a reliable professor again. He explains things so clearly."
"And he was planning practical lessons right from the start! If nothing interferes, his classes are definitely going to be interesting."
"I wonder how he'll end up leaving? He doesn't seem reckless or obsessed with power… probably doesn't have some hidden crime in his past… right?"
"Then maybe he'll suddenly have to leave for personal reasons, or get injured somehow. By the way, I heard Professor Lupin was a classmate of Sirius Black—he won't end up being taken out by Black, will he??"
"Merlin's beard…"
After all, with decades of one Defense Against the Dark Arts professor per year, speculating from day one about how this year's professor would exit had practically become a Hogwarts tradition. Most wizards who dared to apply for the post did so fully aware of this—and many of them had even witnessed or experienced it themselves as students, so they didn't particularly care about such rumors.
"But seriously, where exactly is that damned curse? Why can't I find it no matter what I do??"
As he packed up his things and headed toward the Ancient Runes classroom, Avada frowned in thought. After gaining the ability to see the origin of souls, he had suspected that the curse—like the Chamber of Secrets—might be constructed using soul magic. He had thoroughly searched the castle from top to bottom again… nothing in the main structure, nothing on the professors who held the position, nothing in the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, nothing among the items passed down between generations of professors…
"Did Dumbledore never read Voldemort's memories the way he did with the diary after sealing his main soul? Or is it that even sealed away, Voldemort could still block Dumbledore's Legilimency?"
Avada shook his head and stopped thinking about it. Once Voldemort was completely destroyed, the problem would cease to exist anyway.
As the saying goes—if you can't solve the problem, solve the person who raised it.
And in his case, solving the person would conveniently solve the problem at the same time. How efficient.
…
That evening, he deliberately drank a bit of diluted Sleeping Draught, climbed into bed just after eight, and enjoyed a long, deep sleep. Before five in the morning on Saturday, he was already up again. After grabbing a few bites in the kitchens, he headed straight to his private room in the Room of Requirement and stood before the vessel where the potion was still brewing.
The once pale-silver potion had, after several days of simmering, turned into a liquid like flowing diamond—almost like hand soap mixed with fluorescent powder. Avada removed it from the flame, examined it, gave it a sniff, then nodded lightly. After that, he took out a folded sheet of parchment and spread it across the table…
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
He tapped it lightly with his wand and murmured the words, the corners of his mouth lifting unconsciously. He wasn't lying to Prongs and the others—by the current legal definition, he truly wasn't planning to do anything good this time.
After all, in the long, years-spanning plan that was about to begin, just the things he would personally do were probably enough to land him in Azkaban for who knew how long…
(End of Chapter)